Paying For Your Sins
by ConstantRambling
Summary: Edward is an alcoholic. Bella is terrified of the rain. She never wanted him like this but she's willing to take whatever he'll give her, even if it kills her. - AH. Rated M. Warning: not for the light hearted. OOC.
1. Prologue

Paying For Your Sins

Prologue.

**BPOV:**

The last time I saw him was on a Tuesday. I sit on the floor in this strange place that isn't my home and let myself remember him for the last time.

_Rain had pelted my windshield as I drove out of town, the sound being the only thing that kept it from being entirely silent inside my truck._

_If I could have avoided driving by his house, I would have. Not wanting to chance even the smallest glance at him, I kept my eyes trained on the road ahead._

_He lived on the very edge of our small town, and driving by was the only way out. I had to get out._

_With my heart slamming against my ribs and my knuckles clutched tight around the steering wheel, I held my breath as I passed his house. Of course, I had to look. I couldn't help it and I wished I hadn't._

_He sat on the concrete steps that led to his front door, a door that I hadn't walked through in so long. He had his arms resting on his knees, hands clasped between his legs. He looked up and his green eyes sought mine out instantly. When I couldn't hold his gaze any longer I focused my eyes on the rearview mirror and watched him watch me as he faded from sight._

_I choked back a sob and gripped the wheel tighter trying not to lose it entirely. _

_A few miles and more than a few tears later, my phone beeped from the passenger seat. I reached over and grabbed it with one hand, but hesitated before opening it._

_I knew who it was. Taking a deep breath, I flipped it open and read the words on my screen._

_*__**ONE NEW MESSAGE FROM: Edward.**_

_**I'm so fucking sorry.**_

_Four words that should have been so simple, but they were the farthest thing from it. I pulled over to the side of the road and killed the engine. I pulled my feet up to rest them on the edge of my seat and wrapped my arms around my knees. I let myself break down._

_He apologized and it was the first time that he had ever said those words to me although I should have heard it from him every single day. I didn't really deserve it though, his apology._

_It didn't matter that he was sorry. His apology didn't change anything. I was still me and he was still him. What's done is done._

_I had to get out. I was finished with this town and everyone in it. A new place wasn't going to make anything better, but maybe it would make me feel less suffocated. _

_There were over seven billion people in this world and there wasn't one person that cared about where I was or where I was going. I was completely alone; no family, no friends._

_In hopes of keeping a panic attack at bay, I opened the rusted truck door and walked to the front of the hood. Rain soaked my clothes as I stood there trying not to let my grief consume every part of me. _

_I threw my arms out and screamed as loud as I could manage trying to rid my body of the anger and pain. I screamed until I couldn't breathe, until my throat was raw._

_My fingers sought out the skin above my wrist. Digging the nails of my right hand into my left wrists I began to feel the anger dissipate, leaving me exhausted._

_Without an ounce of energy left in my frail body, I raised my left arm and threw my phone. It didn't get very far, but when it hit the pavement it shattered into pieces._

_Without giving it a second thought, I turned and climbed back into my truck and pulled back on the road._

That was the last time that I had been in Forks.

I loved that broken boy sitting on those steps. I loved him with every ounce of feeling that I had left in my body. My whole soul was filled with only him.

He was my last hope.

I forgave him for what he did. I didn't even have to think twice about forgiving him. It's what I do.

But it wasn't enough, I was never enough.

Forgetting and forgiving is two entirely different things. I have forgiven him, but I will not ever forget.

Letting him go is the only way to survive.

Letting go of him means freedom, it means that I can heal. It means that I can maybe reach the surface of this thing that's drowning me.

But then again, I'm tempted to let it swallow me whole.


	2. Chapter One

**Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight related. I just fuck them up a little bit. **

**Warning: This story contains a lot of things that make people uncomfortable. Look at the Prologue warning for more information. If you don't like it, don't read it. I don't want to hear any complaints, I warned you. **

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**Paying For Your Sins**

**Chapter One**

**BPOV:**

**September 2004**

Thunder shakes the walls as I stand in the kitchen, pouring myself a cup of coffee. It is the same every morning; the same cup, the same place at the four-person table, and the same spot of molded wallpaper my eyes choose to study.

Pulling my hoodie sleeves over my hands, I pick up my coffee and take a sip hoping that it is cool enough to keep from burning my mouth.

No such fucking luck.

But I continue to sip it anyway; one swallow right after the other.

After exactly half of the brown, murky liquid is gone I stand and pour the rest of it down the sink drain before pushing my chair back under the table.

Never do I drink the other half of my coffee. I just cannot do it. There doesn't seem to be any specific reason for it, I just don't. I guess it's the same reason that I can't ever listen to a song all the way through or let the microwave hit zero before I stop it.

I suppose, maybe, I 'm just a bit weird.

Glancing at the clock above the stove I sigh realizing that it's time to leave for school; my own person hell.

I do realize probably every single sixteen year old teenager has said that at some point during their time at school, but it still doesn't make that statement any less true for me. Most of the people that say that shit has no idea what it was really like to go to school and hate every single second of it. Not because of the work, I didn't mind it in the least, I preferred it, really. It was the people.

_I fucking hate people._

I run back up the stairs to brush my teeth, again, before running into my room to pull on my chucks, grabbing my keys and bag and taking the stairs back down and out the door.

Rain. I have a love-hate relationship with rain. I love it as long as I'm not in it, but as soon as I step under its continuous drizzle I fucking hate it. Before you start getting your panties in a wad, it's not because I give a shit about my hair or make up or any other vain reason for that matter, I just cannot stand things touching me, or more importantly my hands. It makes me feel claustrophobic; trapped somehow.

Crazy, right?

This is the reason that I wash my hands a million times a day and for the fact that I cannot have lotion on my hands. I've tried the lotion but I always end up wiping or washing it off immediately after putting it on.

I just can't handle it.

I stuff my hands in my pocket and walk off the porch to my truck.

Not going to lie, it's a piece of shit. It's big and rusty and it rattles like nobody's business but for some fucked up reason I'm attached to it. Like a hard core attachment; one would have thought I made it myself.

Of course I didn't. Like that had to be clarified. I always do that, state obvious shit because I have a hard time explaining myself. It sounds perfect in my head but apparently there is some sort of disconnection between my brain and my mouth where words get lost or mixed up and it comes out sounding like nonsense.

Talking is not my favorite thing to do, even if I had someone to talk to.

The rain picks up just as I close the truck door, shutting myself in, protection from the wet and cold.

Forks Washington is not-so-surprisingly chilly for an early September morning. Forks High School had just started up again a couple of days ago for another school year, and my final year.

_Thank fuck._

The rain continues to pelt my truck, the pavement, and well, pretty much everything as I make my way to the ridiculously small campus that was Forks High.

I pull the clanker into the parking lot not even giving a shit about the noise anymore. People should be used to it by now, I am.

No such fucking luck.

There are some assholes that still snicker and point their fucking fingers in my direction.

Fuck them.

I sit in my truck for as long as I can before I actually work up the courage to get out; can't be counted tardy for first period.

_Get your sorry ass out of the truck and stop being scared of the rain like a bitch._

With a sigh, I hop out into the rain and find shelter under the door awning.

"I see we're chipper this morning," I mutter and step into the hallway.

"Hey Bones! Talking to your imaginary friend again, I see."

Lauren Mallory. Such a bitch.

"Yeah, fuck you," I tell her.

Before I can take another step a hand reaches out and pushes me forward. I throw my hands out trying to catch myself before I become too intimate with the fucking floor.

My palm hits the concrete along with my knee, sending sharp pains through both.

_Just fucking great._

"Don't you talk to me like that you emo freak," Lauren yells, her voice high and nasally.

_Never heard that one before. So fucking original._

Laughter rings out above me, my face heating up. I use my good hand to push myself off the floor.

This is what I get for attempting to stand up for myself: pushed down. How ironic. This is why I keep my mouth shut and just fucking take what they throw at me. I find it to be much easier and so much less painful.

With a grimace and a limp, I walk to my locker and trade my bag for my English book.

I manage to make it to class just as the bell shrieks through hall. I walk, er, limp, in and take my assigned seat right behind Edward fucking Cullen.

This world has a shitty sense of humor.

I ignore him just as he does me. I have a love-hate relationship with him as well.

You see, Edward and I are complicated, but then again it's as simple as this: he fucking hates me or some shit.

And I don't even know why.

We used to be best friend, two peas in a pod, inseparable, and all that. I had the privilege of meeting him in the second grade. He was new and the other fucking children made fun of him because he had glasses and "funny colored hair." Which is the dumbest shit I had ever heard, but then again kids are dumb and cruel.

Whatever. I liked the glasses and I told him so.

We became friends at that very moment and had been ever since then.

He eventually became popular and made other friends, and though none of his friends seemed to like me, and that was putting it mildly- to them I was lower than the unfortunate piece of earth under their dog's pile of shit- he still made me the most important person.

Until he didn't.

That day sucked.

About a year and a half ago, he just stopped talking to me. And that was it.

He gave no reasons, no apologies, nothing.

I tried for days after to talk to him but I can tell when I'm not wanted. I was a fucking professional at that shit.

So I took the hint and not another word has been spoken between us.

I thought he just need some space or something and I hoped that it would all just blow over and things would go back to normal.

And then his mom died.

That was not easy for either one of us. I loved Elizabeth like she was my own mom. Her funeral was the worst day of my existence. Seeing Edward so distraught, so helpless, just fucking killed me.

And he still wouldn't have anything to do with me.

I wanted nothing more than to just wrap my arms around him and tell him, something, anything to erase that look from his face, to erase the hurt that was ripping him apart.

I couldn't.

Neither of us were the same after that.

He became moody and brooding.

He became hostile and arrogant.

He became a fucking alcoholic.

He came to school drunk.

Every single day.

The girls ate that shit up. According to them Edward was bad ass. Edward was tough.

But I could see it. Edward was none of those things.

Edward was broken.

I love him.

I hate him.

I hate him because he abandoned me when he knows how I feel about that shit. I hate him because he didn't even give me a fucking warning. He just left.

I love him because it's hard not to. I knew that boy he was before he wasn't that boy anymore. I love _that _boy.

So, he ignores me now like it's his fucking job. Or maybe it's not even ignoring me anymore; maybe I'm just invisible to him. He doesn't even look in my direction anymore.

To him I do not exist.

The bell rings signaling the end of class and I realize that I didn't even hear one single word Mrs. Garvin spoke. Do we have homework?

Damn it.

I sit silently and watch as Edward walks through the door, the crowd swallowing him within seconds and he disappears.

The pang in my chest does not go unnoticed.

The rest of my morning goes by slowly, classes dragging along and I am relieved when lunch finally rolls around.

Relief is the last thing I should be feeling.

I hate lunch time.

I get in line to buy a bottle of water from the cafeteria and try my hardest not to let my eyes wander to Edward's table.

When I'm done paying for my water, I get out of there as quickly as my legs will carry me, which isn't very fast considering as of this morning I have a faulty fucking knee.

As soon as I round the corner, on my way to the empty classroom that will hold my next class, I groan.

_Not today. Definitely not in the mood to deal with his fucking shit._

"Well, if it isn't Bones. I was starting to think you were avoiding me."

My stomach rolls and I fight to keep from gagging as he walks around me and stands too close to my back.

James has always had some kind of a sick obsession with me. He moved here two years ago and he would always find an excuse to touch me. It started out innocently, touching my arm or shoulder or something.

It just got worse after that.

The day he slapped my ass had been a good one.

Edward was fucking furious. He ended up being suspended from school for a couple of days for punching James in the face.

He backed off after that until news got around that Edward had finally ditched me. According to James, I was 'up for grabs.'

Fucking literally.

I tried to steer clear of them but being such a small fucking school there weren't many places that I could hide.

Regardless of my attempts, they always found me anyway.

Warm, moist air from James's mouth clings to the back of my neck pulling me from my thoughts; I try to pull away.

My lungs feel as though they collapsed in on themselves, each breath becoming harder and harder to suck in.

He reaches around and grabs my left wrist in his hand. I hiss and jerk it back.

"Don't touch me."

He laughs and goes for the other wrist. I let him. That arm is safe enough.

"So skinny. Tell me do you ever eat?" His tone holds nothing but malice.

"Why do you care what I do?" I ask before I can stop myself.

He scoffs. "When I fuck you, and I will, I'd rather not fuck a skeleton, Bones."

I feel the blood drain from my face and tears well up in my eyes.

"Wh- what? No." That is all I can manage to get out before the tears brim over and fall down my cheeks.

"Oh yes, Bones. One day." He makes his point by twisting my right arm behind me, pushing me up against the brick wall and rubbing his erection on my ass.

I bring my free hand up to quiet the sob that comes out of my mouth.

_He can't do anything to you here at school. He can't do anything to you here at school…_

I repeat this over and over in my head until I hear footsteps coming toward us.

James grabs the skin over my ribs and pinches it between his fingers telling me to, 'stop fucking crying.'

I do.

He lets me go just as whoever it is walks around the corner. They stop; their shoes no longer slapping against the floor.

I keep my eyes on the ground and try to wipe the tear trails off my face.

"James." It's Edward.

I look up at him. The first thing I notice are his eyes, glassy and unfocused.

I take James's distraction as an opportunity and step away from him. As I move to pass Edward I accidently brush against his arm and it sends a tingle through my entire body.

I ignore that shit.

I hear him murmur something low to James, something that I don't, and not even sure I want to hear.

I keep walking and by the time I reach the empty biology classroom I think I'm safe.

_No such fucking luck._

Edward walks in behind me; I take my usual seat in the back and just sit there. I don't look at him and I don't speak. He's the one that chose the silence between us, he's the one that's going to break it. He'll be waiting forever if he expects me to talk.

Fuck that.

"I see why they all call you Bones. You're too fucking skinny."

I look at him but still, I keep quiet. What exactly am I supposed to say to that?

He walks down the aisle and stops right in front of my table. Leaning down, he rests his elbows on the edge of the black top and asks, "What are you doing to yourself?"

His question pisses me off. "Why the fuck do you care, Edward? We're not friends anymore remember? You decided that when you stopped talking to me."

I cross my arms and lean as far away from him as I can.

He chuckles humorlessly. "Feisty." His lifts his elbow, his right hand reaching over the table, and he grabs my face.

He squeezes.

My eyes burn.

"I don't like it. What happened to that quiet, kind hearted, clean-mouthed girl I used to know?"

I look him square in the eyes when I speak. "She jumped ship when you did, you fucking asshole."

_Do not let him see you cry. You're supposed to be strong, remember. You don't bleed for just any reason._

Keeping his grip on my jaw bones, he maneuvers his body around the corner of the table until he's standing directly in front of me. He pushes his legs against mine, forcing my knees to part. He stands between them, placing his left hand on the back of my chair.

As his face gets closer and closer, the smell of the alcohol gets stronger.

_Jack Daniels, his poison of choice._

When he's so close that our noses are almost touching, he speaks his voice calm and dangerous. "And just what the fuck makes you think you can speak to me that way? You're worthless. A nobody. Nothing. Insignificant."

It startles me when the bell rings.

"The next time you ever talk to me like that, you'll regret it."

He releases me and sits down in his seat close the front just as the other students start making their way inside the classroom.

_What the hell? _

Before I have too much time to think about what just happened, Mr. Banner signals the beginning of class and begins talking about meiosis.

As hard as it was I focused on the lesson. I would deal with whatever that was with Edward later.

PFYS

When I finally get home I immediately start on my self-assigned chores. It's Thursday which means laundry and bathroom duty. Every week it's the same. In case you haven't already noticed, I like consistency.

I scrub the bathroom with every ounce of energy I can muster trying to forget the days occurrences.

I wash my clothes and Charlie's, our two sets of bed sheets, and the towels. Once all of it has been washed, dried, folded and put away, I start dinner.

It's Thursday. We'll have burrito casserole. Charlie doesn't mind. He wouldn't even tell me if he did considering that he hasn't spoken a work to me in almost three years.

Our relationship had been just like any normal father-relationship up until I was three. That was when my mother left.

After she left he became cold and distant. He took care of me until I was old enough to manage well enough on my own. But that was as far as it went. He never told me he loved me or showed any affection. He didn't abuse me per se but he wasn't the nicest man either.

At least he still spoke to me. When I was fourteen he came home late from work one night drunk off his ass. This wasn't anything new but he was violent. This _was_ relatively new.

He had hit me before, just a slap or two here and there but he had never hit me with his fist.

He did that night. I had no idea what had caused this, but I could tell something was bothering him.

He never said a word; he let his fists do the talking.

When he was satisfied he looked at the blood on the wooden floor and said, "Clean that up."

Those were the last words that my father spoke to me.

The blood stains are still on the floor right there in the hallway by the front door.

I take the casserole out of the oven just as Charlie walks in the door. I listen as he removes his shoes and belt before moving into the living room.

He's started to come home later than usual. I worry about him but I don't ask. It's not like he'll tell me anyway.

I set the table and pour a glass of water for myself and set out a can of beer for him. I don't even know why I bother sitting at the table with him.

But I do.

I go into the living room and tell him dinner is ready. At least he listens to me. At least he hears me.

I hope.

Dinner is quiet.

_And I am hilarious._

He doesn't even look at me. He looks at his plate until he's finished eating. He downs his beer and he goes back to the living room.

He doesn't notice that my food goes untouched.

Every single night.

Which is kind of a blessing and a curse.

_Whatever._

I clean up the kitchen and head upstairs. Everyone has a nightly routine.

Mine is the same.

Mine is different.

In my room I go over to my book shelf, pulling my favorite book and opening it. I take the small blade in my hand before putting the book back.

Once I'm safely locked in the bathroom I shed my hoodie and the white t-shirt I wear under it. I turn to the mirror and glance at my face.

Bruises in the shapes of fingertips decorate both sides it along my jaw lines. My cheeks are sunken in a bit, along with my eyes. My fingers trail along my side, my ribs protruding outwards, the bruise from James pinching me stands out, a dark purple against pale white.

_So disgusting._

With shaking hands I sit on the floor, the blade sharp against my palm.

This time I'm going to get it before it gets me, before I can start thinking about Edward, about his hands hurting me.

Before the pain takes a hold of my heart and won't let go.

I lay my left arm, palm facing up, on my left leg.

My heart rate increases.

I look among the many red lines, crusted over with scabs, angry looking. Once I find an empty space, I bring the blade to the scarred up skin, press down and drag from one side to the other, ignoring the healing cuts that I reopen.

By body instantly relaxes, going completely numb. I let out a huge breath.

Everything is numb.

I watch as the blood fills the cut and comes to the surface. The blood drop grows until it slides down my arm toward my jeans. I let it soak through.

I don't give a single fuck.

I drag the blade across my skin a couple more times before I decide that I'm done.

It sucks to stop. But I don't want to die.

Not yet.

Feeling the glorious high that I find in cutting my skin open, I turn my back from against the wall and lie down on the floor.

Right now nothing in this world is better than this.

I didn't feel a damn thing; the rejection and hurt from Edward, the anxiety and terror from James, my father's silence all forgotten for just a little while.

The blood and the sharp stings were definitely worth what little time it gave me to escape.

I wish I didn't need this.

I wish that I weren't so addicted to this pain that I made cutting myself a routine, instead of every now and then when life sucked the absolute worst.

I finally let my mind drift back to Edward. Why is he all the sudden talking to me again? What did I do that made him so fucking hateful towards me?

These thoughts continue to run through my head before I finally decide that I don't' care.

I've been alone for so fucking long that any attention from Edward is good attention.

If he wants to bruise me, fine. I'd take anything I could get.

But Edward wouldn't hurt me. He didn't even mean to leave these bruises on my face.

If he decided that it wasn't a mistake talking to me today, and he approached me tomorrow I would be better. No provoking him with curse words. If I didn't provoke him he wouldn't hurt me.

Right?

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Thanks for reading. Thanks to the ones who reviewed the last chapter. Thanks for the favorites and the follows.

I apologize for the wait. I just started a new job and haven't had much time for writing. I apologize for any mistakes, I don't have a beta. I try to catch everything but I'm sure there are ones that slipped.

**Reviews will make us both happy. :)**

I have a Twitter kLm2011. It's insanity over there, most of the time no one ever knows what I'm talking about, including myself.


	3. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. Not me.**

**Warning: This story is rated M for many reasons: self-harm, drugs, alcohol abuse, physical abuse, consensual and non-consensual sex, and language. Self-harm parts are graphic. If you are easily triggered, please don't read. I don't want to hear any complaints about it. I warned you. If you don't like it, don't read it.**

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**Paying For Your Sins**

**Chapter two**

**BPOV**

**September 2004**

After the high wears off, the exhaustion sets in. Cutting makes me so fucking sleepy.

I pick myself up off the floor careful not to smear the blood. I undress the rest of the way, turn the knob for the hot water all the way over and climb in.

The water fucking stings like a bitch.

I hiss when I put my arm directly under the spray to wash the red away. The heat of the water turns my skin a pink color as I wash and get out as quickly as I can. I'd rather not have to look at my naked body any longer than necessary.

Once I'm dry and in my usual night wear, sweat pants and a long sleeved shirt, I clean my razor blade and tuck it back into my book.

Too exhausted to worry about homework, I turn my light off and fall into bed. If it were not for my addiction, sleep would not be so easy. If I didn't cut, I didn't sleep. It was as simple as that.

And I sleep damn good, too.

PFYS

September thirteenth.

My birthday.

_Fuck._

I absolutely loathe this day. I think about just staying in bed, but I can't. If it was a school day, I went to school. That's just the way it is.

That 'incident' with Edward had been over a week ago and he hasn't even so much as looked in my direction since then. To be honest, I was sort of relieved and feeling rejected all over again.

Now, sitting in the school parking lot, I forget why coming was so important in the first place. I pick at the gauze covering my latest inflictions underneath the fabric of my hoodie trying to talk myself out of going back home. My anxiety is terrible today, almost unmanageable.

A loud knock on my window almost causes me to pee in my fucking pants. With wide eyes, I look to see who the fucker is that almost scared me to death. Not that I would have minded.

A pair of emerald green eyes are staring back at me.

_Fan fucking tastic. _

He opens my door and drags me out by my arm. I try not to make any sounds of discomfort when his hand comes in contact with my fresh wounds, but fail. My whimper doesn't faze him one bit, nor does he let go.

He reaches over and clutches my bag in his other hand and shuts my truck door with his foot.

"Edward, what the hell are you doing?" I was obviously not thinking about what happened yesterday when I cursed at him.

Or maybe I am.

His fingers dig into my arm and he mumbles something that I'm not able to fully hear; something about 'a smart fucking mouth.'

I almost laugh.

He switches my left arm for my right, which I am so thankful for, and pulls me close to his side. I'm walking too close and a bit behind him; this allows me to trip over his feet and my own on our way to the school entrance. His grip keeps me from face-planting straight into the asphalt multiple times. The other students stare and I'm glad that I don't have the ability to read minds. It's no telling what's going through their minds right now.

He seems oblivious to their gaze while he drags me to our first period class and practically throws me inside the door. The classroom is empty, class doesn't start for another twenty five minutes.

"Don't leave this room." I notice that his eyes are black but before I can ask him about it, he turns and stalks back down the hall.

What the fuck?

With a sigh I sit in my desk and wait.

Class begins not long after, and Edward is back and in his seat. He doesn't look at me or speak to me and I'm not sure what any of this means.

Why did he drag me to class and tell me to stay?

I give up trying to figure Edward Cullen out and just tell myself to go with it. I'm sure that is easier said than done.

"I don't have all fucking day, Bones."

A hand grips my upper arm and I am pulled from my seat. I look around and see that the room is empty around us.

My walk to my next class was very much the same as the one before, but this time he didn't push me in and he left me without a single word to go to his own class. He may have not been aware of the whispers and eyes glued to us, but I certainly was. I didn't like it one bit. I'm used to being invisible, ignored for the most part save those few times when Lauren Mallory or Jessica Stanley felt like boosting their confidence or James felt like harassing me. Speaking of James, he hasn't bothered me since he and Edward exchanged words in the hall a few weeks ago. It almost makes me wish I had heard what Edward said to him.

When the bell rings I quickly exit the room hoping I can get to my next classes without being grabbed up by Edward.

I'm successful.

I get through my next two classes without running into him, but it doesn't last too long. He catches up with me before lunch, clutching my arm in a grip so tight I think my arm will fall off from lack of blood flow.

He is livid.

_Huge surprise there, he's never NOT mad._

With the hall being littered with only a few students here and there, he backs me up against the brick wall, his body fully pressed against mine holding me there.

"You were supposed to fucking wait for me. Do you have no sense of self-preservation?" His voice is calm, the complete opposite of the rest of him. His hands, placed on the wall on both sides of my head, shake almost imperceptibly.

I scoff. "So you could drag me all over the school while everyone watches? No thanks, Edward. And there isn't exactly anything worth preserving so no, I guess not."

He closes his eyes and breathes out his mouth. His breath fans over my face, mint and booze assault my sense of smell. I breathe in the smell and hope that he doesn't notice with his eyes still close. But from the smirk on his face, he does.

_Damn it._

"Who gives a shit what other people think?" His eyes are open again and even colder than they were before which I thought wasn't possible.

"Obviously you do Edward. Isn't that why you ditched me in the first place? Because you had better friends and I was nothing compared to them? So you completely drop me from you entire life because I wasn't good enough for your new friends! What's so different now?"

He pushes me harder into the wall, my shoulders and hips pressing roughly against it.

"You don't fucking know anything." He backs away from me slowly but his eyes never leave mine. I look away. The urge to slice my skin open is almost too much. I start to feel like I'm being suffocated. The pressure in my chest is too full, like it's about to crack my ribs.

I reach my hand into my pocket and grip the cold metal in my hand. Keeping my eyes off Edward I turn and rush toward the bathroom but before I can manage to make it inside, Edward steps between me and the door.

"Where do you think you're going?"

I can't answer him. There isn't enough oxygen coming in and I'm almost hyperventilating. I try to step around him but he blocks my path.

Black dots begin to cloud my vision, everything around me spins. Time slows down and I can't seem to move properly. My movements are slow, it's almost like I can't control my own body.

I sink down onto the floor, pull my knees to my chest and lay my head on top. I fucking hate when these panic attacks happen. They mostly occur when I become overwhelmed with the need to cut, like now. I try not to let it happen but there are times like these when it just seems to be out of my control.

I focus on breathing in and out and try not to think about how Edward is witnessing this whole thing. He's going to see just how much of a freak I am. He's going to leave me again because of how fucked up I am.

I cut these thoughts off before it happens all over again. After a couple of minutes my vision is back to normal and I'm no longer dizzy. The skin on my wrist is crawling, begging me to run my blade over it. The urge is still there.

I look up at Edward standing against the wall, his feet crossed over one another, his arms folded across his chest.

I blush from the embarrassment and get to my feet. He doesn't say anything and his face is blank, nothing.

"I need a minute," I mumble, pointing to the ladies room.

He unfolds his arms and rubs his face. "Hurry the fuck up. I'm hungry."

I nod and walk into the bathroom, wetting a paper towel and going into the nearest stall. I pull my hoodie sleeve up and remove the gauze and tape making sure to be careful so that I can reuse it.

The blade rips into my skin and everything melts away. Edward is no longer waiting for me outside the bathroom, and I am no longer sitting in the floor of a public restroom.

I make nine more shallow cuts before wiping away the blood and recovering it. I sit still and bask in the feeling a few minutes longer.

And a few minutes too long. I hear a bang, the bathroom door hitting the wall behind it and footsteps coming closer, a pounding fist on the stall. I wrap the bloody razor in some toilet paper and throw away the red stained towel.

"Bones! Get the fuck out! Lunch is almost over and I'm hungry!"

I stand and open the door completely ignoring him to wash the small amount of blood from my hand in case he decides to be observant and notice.

I follow him into the cafeteria and as we walk past his table he tells me to sit. I gape at him in shock. Surely he doesn't want me to sit amongst Jasper and Alice. My heart speeds up, and I'm not sure what to do.

"Uh-uh. Not that shit again. Just sit the fuck down." He goes to the line and starts piling food on a tray.

I turn to the table and find that Alice and Jasper are already looking at me.

Fuck.

Alice speaks up. "Come on Bones, sit down before you piss him off any further."

Jasper looks at her, his forehead creased down the middle.

I sit in the chair across the table and the farthest away from them as I can get. Edward comes back with two trays full of food and three water bottles. He sets them down and sits down leaving an empty chair between us.

He digs in eating way too fast and the sight of it makes me kind of nauseous. I look away, my eyes focusing on the floor beside my chair.

"Bella, do you want some food?" My head jerks in surprise towards Jasper. No one has called me by my name in as long as I can remember.

I shake my head and focus my eyes back on the floor before the tears well up.

"Are you sure? Edward here has plenty, some of it will go to waste if you don't eat it."

I shake my head again. Edward's hand pushes a tray towards me. "Eat," he says.

I look at him. "No thanks. I uh, had a big breakfast this morning. I'm not hungry."

Edward keeps his eyes on my face for a while before pulling the tray back over and pushing a water bottle over to me.

He scoots the chair that separates us back and before I can grab the bottle he hooks his foot around the front leg of my chair and pulls it close to him. Once our chairs are touching, he leans over and puts his mouth near my ear.

"If you're going to starve yourself the very least you can do is drink something," he whispers.

He kicks my chair back into its original position, not bothering to put the other one back.

Lunch ends and the rest of the day passes without any more drama. I don't fight Edward when he walks me to and from each class or when he walks me to my truck and the end of the day. I don't ask why and I don't care at this point. This day has exhausted me.

It's Monday and I have to go to the Thrift Way for groceries and other necessities such as cleaning supplies, laundry detergent. Charlie puts money in a jar for these kinds of things. He pays the bills but leaves it to me to restock the kitchen every week. He puts in way more money than needed so I use what's left for personal items. I saved up enough from the last three years and bought myself a laptop a few months ago. There is no internet connection at home, so I use the school libraries when I'm near.

Once the groceries are bought and put away at home, I decide to eat something. It's been a couple of days since I last eat anything and I have to every now and then to keep my body from completely shutting down. I don't, not eat because I want to be skinny, which just happens. I don't want to eat. I don't see the point in it other than the fact that it's substantial in keeping us alive.

I guess it also has something to do with my father. After my mom left and I was old enough to take care of myself, I would have to make my own meals. For an eight year old, that consisted of finding whatever I could that didn't have to be cooked in any way. I mostly ate chips and crackers and things like that, Charlie's snacks. When I would eat the crumbs or whatever was left in the bottom of the bag Charlie would get upset. He would tell me how fat I was for eating all of his food so I didn't eat anymore of his food. I felt like a burden to Charlie and so I told myself that I would do whatever it took to keep out of his way, hoping that it would make him like me more.

It didn't. And I never ate much after that. I eat enough to keep me alive, which is a meal here and there, every couple of weeks, or a small snack when I feel like I may faint. I don't throw any of it up because it's not about making me skinny, it's about making Charlie hate me less, but then again he doesn't even notice. I guess that now, it's just a habit, but it's one that I have no interest in breaking. I like consistency, remember?

I make a plain ham sandwich, cut it down the middle and half those. I take out an apple out of the refrigerator and slice it up into four pieces and then cut those pieces in half before arranging them around a plate with a spoonful of peanut butter in the middle, making sure they don't touch; the sandwich pieces go on another plate entirely. Sitting down at the table, I set the plate in front of me and just stare at it. I wonder how this will make my stomach feel, better or worse? When I eat, I eat things that are light; fruit and vegetables mostly. I do this in hopes of avoiding stomach pains, but no matter what I do sometimes they happen, sometimes they don't; it's always different with me. I always feel bloated afterwards though, uncomfortable for a while but it will pass and I will be good to go for a couple of more days.

The longest I have gone without eating anything at all was a week and a half. That didn't go too well, so I eat one good meal every five days or so, only eating a snack when I have too. Those 'have-too's' do not come very often at all.

I use a fork to pick up a piece of apple and slowly bite into it, my taste buds coming alive when the juice makes contact. I chew slowly, taking my time with each bite. I barely touch the peanut butter and when the apple is gone, I'm almost too full to even look at the sandwich. Pushing the empty plate aside, I place the other one in front of me and give myself a bit of a pep-talk.

"Come on, take ten bites and if you can't eat anymore, you can throw it away."

Five more minutes of this and I take my first bite. I only get seven bites into it before I decide that I can't finish it.

With a sigh, I throw the other bits away and wash my dishes.

As I'm putting the plates back into the top cabinet a knock on the door makes me jump. I lose my grip on the ceramic dish, clipping my right shoulder it falls to the floor and shatters.

Tiny shards scatter everywhere, some hitting my bare feet. Thankful for the amount of clothes I wear, I start picking up the big pieces from the floor.

"You shouldn't leave your door unlocked, wouldn't want any random fuckers just walking in."

I gasp, the sharp piece I'm holding cuts into my fingers and palm as I squeeze my hand together to keep from screaming.

I shoot up from the floor, almost falling over in the process, but I regain my balance and drop sit the bloody plate piece on the counter.

"Edward, what are you doing here, in my house?"

He stands just inside the kitchen door, still before moving to the fridge. He doesn't answer me but opens the door and takes out a can of Charlie's beer and downs the whole thing.

My eyes never leave him. It's been a long time since he's been here.

"It's not nice to stare, Bones. Didn't your mother ever teach you that?"

My mouth falls open, and he notices.

He laughs. "Oh, shit. Yeah, I forgot. Your mother didn't want you."

"Yeah, I guess not." I mumble, kind of stunned at his words. He knew how I felt about my mother's leaving. He was the one that would always stick up for me when we were in elementary school, when the kids would tease me for being "mommy-less."

I knew my mother didn't want me, but it still hurt coming from him. I wasn't going to cry though. Crying wouldn't bring her back, nor would it change the way Edward treats me.

Blood drips from my palm onto the floor. I run water from the sink over the cut and tie an old dish towel around my hand to keep blood from getting everywhere.

Edward doesn't say anything; he pulls out a chair and sits down, leaning his back against the wood and watches me.

I go back to cleaning up the glass, sweeping up what's left in the floor and throwing it in the trash.

The clock on the stove reads just after six pm. I wonder why he's here but keep my mouth shut. I've already ask him once and he didn't answer me then.

After putting the broom and dustpan back into the pantry I throw Edward's empty can away. I decide to start dinner not knowing exactly when Charlie would be home. I hope it won't be soon, I'm not sure how Charlie would feel about Edward being here. He probably wouldn't care, he never did before.

Edward also knew that Charlie had an obvious distaste for me. We had never really talked about it and I had never told him about that night that Charlie beat the fuck out of me. I was afraid that I would be taken away if he told his parents and I didn't want to leave Edward. I told him that I fell down the stairs. He didn't believe me at first but I finally convinced him. He knows how clumsy I am.

Edward continues to keep quiet while I make dinner. I try not to think about him watching me as I boil the noodles, brown the ground turkey, and heat the sauce in a small sauce pan.

Once dinner is finished I put it on the table and ask Edward if he plans on staying for dinner?

"Yep."

I set the table, only putting two plates down. I won't be eating, there's no sense in pretending otherwise.

"You might as fucking well get yourself a plate too. You're eating."

I laugh. "I am not."

He jumps out of his seat and rushes over to me.

"You're fucking killing yourself!"

"What's it to you whether I'm alive or dead? I'm sure you can find someone else to replace me. You've done it before."

His hand is pulled back and I realize that he was, or is, about to hit me.

My heart sinks into my stomach, tears prickling my eyes. Numbness starts to spread over me, my mind and body trying to shut down itself down.

"Do it. Hit me."

He closes his eyes, his fist loosening. He _has _to hit me. I need to feel something.

I grab his arm. "No! Hit me, Edward!"

He tries to pull away from me. "Stop."

I push him, both my hands against his chest. "HIT ME!"

Tears run down my face as I continue to beg him to physically harm me, push after push.

He grasps my wrists in his hands. "STOP!"

I don't. I pull away from his hold and keep pushing, shoves turn into punches. I punch his chest, begging, crying…

Until, he does.

He hits me.

The sharp sting spreads across my cheek and I smile like the sick fuck that I am. I instantly feel better and worse at the same time. I just made Edward hit me so that I could feel something.

When I look at him he's just staring at me with no expression.

Before I can apologize he speaks. "Happy birthday, Bones."

And with that, he walks out of my house and I have a feeling that he's walking out of my life again, for good this time.

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**AN: **Thanks for reading and for the reviews for the last chapter. I'm also so grateful for the favorites and follows.

I know it's kind of slow, but it'll pick up a bit within the next couple of chapters.

I start school tomorrow so I'm not sure about the next update. I'm trying to get a beta, but I'm finding that it's harder than one would think. Anyway, any mistakes are mine and I apologize for them.

**Reviews are good, for me and you. Reviews get a teaser for the next chapter, so make sure you login and review! :)**

Until next time, CR!


	4. Chapter Three

**IMPORTANT AN: I'm giving you this chapter unbeta'ed. Apologies for any mistakes. Read the bottom AN for more information on that. Thanks for the reviews for last chapter. I appreciate them so much. **

**Usual warnings still apply.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight. Okay.**

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October

November

December

January

I had lost more weight. I didn't mean to, it wasn't as if I had done it on purpose but there it was: the scale told me that I weighed fifteen pounds less than I did three months ago. I was now eighty pounds. Fuck.

I stopped getting my period and I was nothing more than skin stretched over bones. I am disgusting. I know that I am and I'm not strong enough to do anything about it.

Edward was gone. His father had sent him to some sort of rehab center in Seattle in late September. He was gone before that though; gone from my life, again.

My thoughts, heart, and my soul were an entirely different story, however. He was embedded into my skin, running through my body like veins. I couldn't let him go. He was the only thing that I had left in this world and I knew that if I let him go, I wouldn't survive.

I'm barely alive as it is. My heart is working, albeit harder than it's supposed to, my lungs are taking in oxygen, but that's it.

I feel nothing. Not happiness, not sadness, not anger. I'm completely empty.

The blade helps, but not much. It only helps for those glorious moments, while the blood drips down whichever body part is taking the abuse. But not long after the red dries, I'm back to where I started.

It's enough though. Those few moments are just enough to keep me from going insane. Or maybe I'm already insane. Who knows?

My feet make the perfect sounds against the gravel road, a sound that takes up my whole thoughts. I only focus on the crunch as I walk to my favorite place in the world. The walk is long and I almost am not able to walk it anymore. My lungs burn and my breathing is harsh. Simple things like walking short distances completely exhaust me. My body is too frail, fragile, and all because I am destroying myself.

I hate myself. It's a hatred that consumes me. Sometimes it's all that I can think about. I've done this to myself and I can't fix it.

When I reach the barely visible trail that leads to my hidden paradise, I have to stop and rest for a few minutes. My destination isn't much farther ahead, but I won't be able to make it without passing out if I don't stop.

The forest floor reaches into the sky, wraps around the tree trunks, and brushes against my denim clad knees. I trudge through the thick green, making my way toward the sound of water trickling over and between rocks.

I get to the top of the hill I'm currently killing myself on and look down. I smile spreads across my face. It's a foreign feeling; I haven't smiled in a long time. It kind of hurts, now that I really think about it.

I descend the hill via old wooden steps to the old wooden bridge that stretches across the river. Masen Bridge it's called.

Like me, this bridge has been forgotten or ignored. Unlike me, it doesn't deserve to be forgotten. It's everything that I'm not, beautiful, worthy of being remembered, cherished even.

I step from the bank onto the first wooden plank. The bridge creaks because of the pressure from the water running into its sodden legs underneath the surface of the water. The water is cold and dangerous. The current is never calm, it's angry.

I walk to the middle of the bridge, staying in the center. There are no rails; it's just me and the old wood beneath my feet. Falling off would mean my death. I would freeze to death or drown. I would hate to drown. Drowning is not on my list of ways to kill myself. I've thought about it before and I'm thinking about it now. If I jumped off this bridge and drowned, no one would ever find me. No one knows about this place other than Edward and I'm sure he's forgotten it already.

I would drown and my body would waste away, dissolve on the bed of the river. I wouldn't mind honestly, this is my favorite place after all. With no body there wouldn't have to be a funeral and it would be like I never even existed.

I fantasize about my death way too often. Late at night I lie in my bed and close my eyes, I try to imagine how it would end. Would I go with bloody wrists, a rope bruise around my neck, a gunshot wound to the head, or a stomach full of pills? Who would be the lucky one to find me? Would Charlie even notice if I wasn't around? Surely when I missed dinner he would look for me? Maybe not.

I think about the few people that would come to my funeral and even then I am not absolutely sure that they would. Would they be sad about my passing or just show respect for the Chief of Police? Would Edward be sad? Would he cry or miss me?

Suddenly, a whole opens up in my chest taking every bit of oxygen from my lungs and I have never, ever felt so fucking lonely.

Trying to catch my breath, I sit down on the edge of the rotting wood, my feet dangling in midair.

_If only I weren't such a fucking chicken about drowning._

Did I want to kill myself? Kind of. But more importantly, I wish that I had just never existed. How great would that have been?

If I hadn't of been born, Charlie and Renee would still be together and Charlie may have been happy.

I think about how Edward would be if I had never existed. Would he still be the way he is now, or was before he left three months ago? Would he be worse? I don't know.

I lay back and put my feet on the edge, the wood, even through my five layers of clothes, is hard against my spine. I listen to the water hoping that it will put me to sleep.

I don't sleep very well anymore. Cutting used to make me sleep, but now I just toss and turn, fall asleep for a few minutes only to wake up again. And that's on a good night.

Little specks of white start flowing through the air, falling slowly to the ground. I close my eyes and just as I'm about to dose off I hear a twig snap on the bank.

I sit up to try to find the source of the noise.

Edward stands at the end of the wood planks. His cheeks are red with cold, his hair tucked into a black beanie. His eyes are green and for the first time in a while, not glassy.

He's sober.

I look over the rest of him. He has on jeans, a heavy black coat, and some boots of some kind. He looks taller, manlier. Maybe I'm just making shit up.

I sigh and look away wondering what it is that he's doing here. This just puts us back to square one and I hate him for it.

With my legs back over the edge I stare into the water wondering why it isn't frozen yet. It sure is fucking cold enough. I shiver. That's another thing about being eighty pounds, no body heat. I can't stay warm, ever. No matter how many layers of clothes I put on, there seems to be a permanent chill settled in my bones.

I feel the bridge shake with every step Edward takes toward me. He stops right beside me and sits down, just far enough away that we don't touch. I want to lean closer to him for some warmth but I keep my place.

I crave human touch. I haven't been hugged since Edward and I were friends. The only time I'm actually in contact with another person is when I bump into them in the hallways at school or they "bump" into me. That's definitely not the kind of affection that I'm looking for.

Sometimes it is so overwhelming that I feel like I might cry about it. But I can't. I cannot cry. I haven't cried since Edward left. I've tried and tried. I've tried to cry out that feeling where something is stuck in your throat and your heart feels like it's about to burst out of your chest. But I couldn't. So, I cut it out. And even that only lasted for a short while.

I want to hug Edward and beg him to never leave me again. I want to tell him that I missed him and that I need him. I want to tell him that I'm sorry for the way that I am, that I'm sorry for not being good enough for him.

I want to tell him all of these things but I don't.

I wonder if he's better. I wonder if he's softer, if his anger is gone. Could I be that lucky? Could he? Probably not.

"You shouldn't be out here, Bones. It's too cold."

The fact that he still calls me Bones is enough to make me want to throw myself off this bridge. It makes the hope that I have for him decrease.

"Maybe I'll catch my death while I'm out here." I say, only half joking.

He doesn't think it's funny. "You haven't changed a fucking bit."

"Neither have you."

"I'm sober."

I look at him. "I'm glad, Edward. I really am, but how long will you stay that way?"

He pulls a silver flask out of his jacket and laughs. "Long enough for me to get this down." He takes a big swig of what I'm sure is Jack Daniels.

Tears seep from my eyes and roll silently down my face. For the first time in months, I cry. I was really hoping that he would get better. I was hoping that rehab was going to help him.

I go to get up but he pulls me back down. "Stay. I haven't seen you in a while. Did you miss me?"

"I've been missing you for years Edward."

"I've only been gone for three months."

I shake my head. "No. You have been gone for far longer than that."

"You're so fucking strange."

I shrug. "Did you miss me?"

He snorts. "Nope. I miss things that are important to me. I missed my bed, my car, the endless supply of pussy that the girls of Forks High offer me. Not you."

I nod.

"Come on. Let's go back to your house. It's cold and I'm hungry."

A sudden rage swells inside me. "You can't just do this! You can't just abandon me for almost two years and then decide that you just want to pick up right where we left off! We're not the same people anymore. You're not the same. You can just pick and choose when you want me to be a part of your life. You can't give me this hope and then take it away when you decide that you don't want anything to do with me. You can't do this to me. Either you want me in your life or you don't. You can't have both."

I'm on my feet now, my entire body shaking. Edward slowly stands, his head towering above me by at least a foot.

He shakes his head. "You don't get it. You're not like me –"

I cut him off. "Yeah, I get it. I'm not like you and your friends. I'm not as pretty as Tanya or as popular. I'm nothing, worthless. I get it! I—"

He puts his hand over my mouth. "If you'll shut the fuck up for one goddamn second and let me finish... My world isn't for you. It's kind of dangerous. The life I live is far from your normal, everyday, cookie cutter way of life." He removes his hand.

His words just piss me off further. "Cookie cutter? What the fuck Edward? You of all people should know how fucked up my life is! Or did you just erase all of those years that we spent together from your mind? And I'm not a child. I can handle whatever bullshit you think your life is. You're not as tough as everyone thinks Edward! I can fucking see you!"

I walk past him, trying to get home. I walk through the over grown green back to the gravel road. I hear Edward behind me but he keeps back, never catching up or passing me. When I get out of the woods, I see Edward's car parked along the other side of the road.

"Get in." He's caught up to me now.

I get in before he can grab me and throw me in. The inside is much like the outside; clean, sleek, and modern. It smells like him as well.

He drives back the short distance back to my house, the gravel road turning back to pavement.

He kills the engine and gets out. Not waiting for me he lifts the wood where our spare key is hidden, unlocks the door, and goes in leaving it open for me.

I follow behind and find him in the fridge. He takes out the left overs from last night's dinner and sticks it in the microwave.

I turn around and go upstairs to change. The snow has dampened my clothes. I change quickly putting on some yoga pants, a long sleeved shirt and a dry hoodie.

Back down stairs Edward is finishing up the entire plate of lasagna. He doesn't notice me until I'm standing directly across the table from him.

He looks up pushing the plate away from him. I pick it up and wash it off before putting it in the dishwasher.

"You look terrible."

I nod. It seems like that's all I can do. What am I supposed to say to that? What he is saying is true.

"You've lost more weight. How much?"

I let out a huge breath. Why does he have to ask me these questions? I look for something to do but because it's a Saturday I come up empty. Saturdays are meant for the bridge and reading. I usually have everything done by then and now I hate myself for it. I stare out of the window above the sink.

"How much do you weigh Bones?" He's right behind me, his breath hot on my ear.

I shiver and I find that it's not from the cold.

"Tell me. Now."

"Eighty pounds."

"Fuck! Why? Do you not see how ugly this makes you?"

I turn around, my chest presses against his. "Do you think that I want this? You don't think that I want to be normal? I don't want to give people a reason to call me Bones! It's not something I ever wanted!"

"Eat then!"

I laugh. "Okay. Then you stop the drinking and drugs."

"I did for three months."

"And you're about to be right back where you started. It's the same Edward. It's not just something that you can quit."

"Whatever. You're going to kill yourself."

"Yeah? You'll be right behind me."

He laughs. "You and your smart fucking mouth. It does certain things to me and that will lead to nothing but trouble."

I blush.

He laughs again and walks to the front door. "I'll see you around Bones."

I run to catch him before he gets off the porch. I grab his coat sleeve and tug him back towards the house.

"No. Please. We just talked about this. You can't. You either want me or you don't. You have to choose because I can't deal with this anymore."

He jerks his sleeve out of my grasp. "Fine. You want mixed up in it all? You got it, but don't say I never warned you. I'm warning you now, you don't fucking want it."

I think about what he says. He's probably right. I probably don't want it, but I want him. And I'll take whatever as long as I have Edward. He doesn't need to know that though so I just shake my head.

He runs his hands through his hair, now free from the confines of his beanie. "Fuck. Whatever. I have to go though."

He leaves and my only thought is, 'What the fuck am I getting myself into?'

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**Author's Note: Thanks for reading! **

**If you missed the AN I posted the other day it basically just said that I got a beta through Project Team Beta and I'm having to send in and repost each chapter before I can post the new ones, so it's taking a long time. **

**If I had waited for this chapter to be beta'ed, you guys would have had to wait a month it. **

**So, I'm not sure about the next chapter. Hopefully it won't be a month. Oh, and I fucked up my left hand by slamming it in the car door, so it's not very easy to type.**

**Reviews are love and I certainly enjoy hearing how you guys feel about the story. **

**Until next time, **

**-Constant! :)**


	5. Chapter Four

**AN: Sorry for the delay. Warnings still apply.**

**This chapter is not beta'ed. Any mistakes are mine and I apologize for them in advance.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

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**Paying For Your Sins**

**Chapter Four**

**January 2005**

**BPOV:**

I hide my face against Edward's back, my arms wound tightly around his waist while he guides the four-wheeler around tree stumps and fallen limbs. If I weren't terrified I would be ecstatic about being so close to him. He's going way too fast for such a narrow path. He jumps the small mounds of dirt, speeds up around sharp curves, throwing me in every direction.

In what seems like two seconds short of forever, we reach our mysterious destination.

Edward showed up at my house on this contraption under us and told me to get on. I only asked where we were going once before he told me to 'shut up and hang on.'

So I sat silently on the back of his black four-wheeler as he shot down the road in the pitch black night as fast as the machine would allow.

He shifts the gear into neutral and turns the key, killing the engine. My bones ache with the cold and I can't feel my fingers or my toes. Four-wheeler riding is definitely not ideal in the middle of winter.

As Edward stands up, still straddling the seat, I let go of his waist, sit back and instantly tuck my hands underneath my thighs in hopes of finding feeling again.

Edward throws his leg over and steps off the four-wheeler. I sit and turn my attention away from Edward and to the small shed-like structure a few feet away. It sits tucked into the edge of the trees, its wood dark and the shingle-covered roof sags inward. I see the inside, lit through a small window on the side wall.

There is a fire burning in the middle of the clearing with six folding chairs surrounding the circumference and I want nothing more to stand by the flames and soak up every bit of warmth they offer.

"Stay here." Edward says and turns to walk into the forest behind the shack, leaving me alone with only the light of the fire keeping me from sitting in complete darkness.

I watch him until his figure disappears and turn my attention back to the circle of rocks encircling the orange. I look around at the small clearing, at the brown, dead leaves littered along the ground mixed with the green that never dies.

If I were a normal person I would be afraid, being out here in the middle of nowhere and not knowing how long Edward would be gone. I should be a bit scared, right?

I'm just cold. And nothing else.

I'm always torn about wanting to feel and not wanting to feel. I often ask myself how that is. How can I want both things?

Edward makes me feel. My blade makes me numb. I want both of these things more than anything.

If I were dead I wouldn't have to worry about any of it.

My chest begins to feel heavy and I have the urge to claw it out with my own hands. I suddenly wish I had my blade.

I hate myself for needing so much. I need Edward and I need my metal, but I deserve neither. I deserve to die. I hate myself. I can't even begin to explain how much I cannot stand myself. My body, my voice, my hair, eyes, the way that I act, all of it.

And I feel trapped. Suffocated. I need out of my own body and I just can't. I'm stuck here. I'm stuck feeling like this with no way to escape.

Unless I'm dead.

These thoughts make me restless and I can't sit still anymore. I climb off Edward's four-wheeler and head toward the fire but I'm not cold anymore. I'm suffocating. I can't get out of my own head. These thoughts never leave, always running through my mind, grabbing at the edges of my sanity.

Death.  
Worthlessness.  
Useless.  
Insignificant.  
Unwanted.  
Ugly.  
Not good enough.

I clutch my head in both my hands, pulling at my hair. I need it to stop.

"Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop…" I repeat it over and over, my eyes closed tight.

My hands leave my hair, grabbing at the hem of my hoodie and jerking it over my head. I need to breathe. The fabric falls to the ground leaving me in my long sleeved t-shirt, jeans, and boots.

The air is still not getting to my lungs. I bury my fingers into the skin on my neck, just above my collar bones. I dig my nails and fingertips in and drag them up and down my neck, over my chest, just trying to be okay.

A hand grips my elbow, turning me around.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Edward pulls my hands away from my neck, holding my wrists tightly in his grip.

I'm not sure how long he was gone but I'm so fucking glad he's back. I need him to distract me. I need him to hurt me. I need him to hug me. Anything.

Instead, he lets go of one of my wrists, lifts my chin up and looks at my neck, lowering the top of my shirt to see what I'm sure are scratches all over me. He lets go of me.

"What the hell, Bones?"

He makes me feel stupid for hurting myself. I look to his face but he's not looking at me anymore. His eyes are closed, his head craned up, looking toward the sky. He breathes in and out audibly and I find that I can breathe again.

But he's disgusted with me. He doesn't even want to touch me and although that is completely understandable it still stings. I can only imagine what he would say, or not say, if he saw my arms and legs.

I lean over and pick my hoodie up from the ground and walk around Edward, back to the trail that we came in on. I can't stay here, especially if he doesn't want me, if he's disgusted with me.

He lets me get a few hundred feet away, almost into the cover of the trees before he starts after me. He hooks his arm around my waist, picks me up, and carries me back to the four-wheeler.

After sitting me down on the back, both legs on the same side, he digs his cell phone out of his front pocket and taps the screen for a few seconds before putting it to his ear.

"Hey. I'm here," he says, his eyes trained on the foot that's kicking the tire of the four-wheeler. "I don't care where your fucking dick is. Hurry the hell up, we agreed to meet fifteen minutes ago!"

With a huff he shoves his phone back into his pocket. He goes to the front of the four-wheeler and leans against the black rail things. We sit in silence for a while before I hear another four-wheeler approaching from behind the shack. Headlights shine through the trees, illuminating the clearing.

James pulls up beside Edward's four-wheeler with some girl on the back. I fight back the urge to gag.

"Sorry I'm late, I was keeping my dick warm." He smirks in Edward's direction before looking at me.

"Well, well. What do we have here? I wasn't expecting you, Bones. I guess Eddie forgot to mention he was bringing a guest." The smile on his face was sickening and full of malice.

He steps onto the ground and walks over to me, wrapping his hand around the base of my throat. His grip is tight and painful but I don't make a sound.

Edward, still leaning against the front, turns his head toward where James has his hand around my neck.

"Let go of her James," he says with a sigh. "I came here on business and from the looks of it you have your own whore to get off on hurting."

James barks out a laugh, the stench of alcohol fills my sense of smell. "That bitch isn't near as feisty as this one though." His squeeze tightens, cutting off most of my air supply. I try to take in as much air through my mouth, but fail and choke on the oxygen instead.

My hands grip his arm, trying tugging it away from me. My vision clouds, dark spots filtering my sight. I lift my foot and kick out, trying to hit whatever I can. It connects with whatever part of his body, I'm not quite sure but his grip loosens on my throat and before I can escape his grasp, both of his hands seize my shirt and he pulls me off the seat.

I stumble but his grip keeps me upright until his fist connects with my eye. I fall toward the ground, my shoulder hitting the metal foot rest of the four-wheeler. Warm liquid runs down the left side of my face as I try to suck in oxygen.

The tip of a boot connects with my ribs, and any hope I had for air has now been diminished completely. Pain shoots across my side, accompanied with the pain from my shoulder is almost unbearable but completely welcome.

I almost smile before I catch myself. James' hands reach out to grab me again but before he gets to me, Edward steps in.

_About fucking time, asshole._

He grabs James by the arm and pulls him off me. I should feel relieved but I can't help but feel a bit disappointed. That was nice in the way of that distraction I was looking for earlier.

"That's enough." His voice is calm, he almost sounds like he is bored.

"Dude, she kicked me in the fucking nut sack!"

_Oh._

"And you got your revenge. I said enough. Now, get me my crank."

James continues to glare at me, not moving to follow Edward's demand. Edward jerks James toward him, their faces inches from each other.

"Now," he demands with a shove.

James stumbles back, and goes into the shack. I sit up on the ground, but stay seated. The movement causes pain to rip across my ribs. I grit my teeth trying to keep from making any noise. I've already probably pissed off Edward. I knew what I was doing provoking James like that, and so did Edward.

A few minutes later, James comes back out of the shack with a large, brown, paper bag in his hand. He passes the bag to Edward and steps back. Edward opens the bag and pulls out a small, clear baggie of what looks like white powder. He opens it before licking his pinky finger and dipping it into the powder. He brings it to his mouth and rubs the powder along his upper gums.

Realizing what he's doing, I sigh and run my hands down my face, smearing the blood that continues to ooze from my eyebrow.

Edward locks his gaze on James, before nodding slowly, almost imperceptibly. He turns and opens a compartment that is built into the black exterior of the four-wheeler. He stuffs the bag in and takes another bag out before closing and locking it.

He hands over the bag to James who opens it and digs through the contents. Once he's satisfied with whatever he finds, he rolls down the top of the bag and shakes Edward's hand.

"Nice doing business with you, Eddie."

Edward nods. "Yeah, I'll keep in touch. Give my regards to Eleazer."

"Sure." He looks at the girl on the other four-wheeler and motions for her to follow him before they both disappear into the shack.

Edward turns and looks down at me. "Get up, Bones."

I move slowly, anticipating the agony involved in getting my ass off the ground. Once I'm up and back on the seat, no thanks to Edward, I realize what the hell is about to occur.

A few of my ribs may possibly be broken, bruised at the very least and I'm about to ride on a four-wheeler over a bumpy path.

_Fuck._

I contemplate saying something to Edward. He obviously won't give a shit, since he let it happen to me in the first place.

Before I make a decision, Edward hops on the seat, starts the engine, and speaks.

"Hold on as tight as you can, I'll try to take it slow. Don't get your fucking blood on my jacket either."

I'm not entirely sure that I believe, so I keep my mouth shut and wrap my arms around his waist, basking in his warmth.

The ride back home was far worse than the ride up there. Edward was telling the truth and he kept it slow but it hurt regardless. The pain seemed to increase with each bump and even the slightest jostle.

Edward pulls onto my street and slows down. "Is your dad home?"

I shake my head even though he can't see me. "No. I don't think so."

A few seconds later we pull into my driveway. He shuts off the engine and gets off heading straight for the front door. He lets himself in and I follow behind him as quickly as I can.

Once inside he tells me to go sit at the kitchen table. I do as I'm told and watch as he rips a couple of paper towels from the holder beside the stove. He turns on the water and soaks the paper towels before squeezing the water back out and throwing it at me.

"Clean that shit off your face."

He pulls out a chair to the left of me and sits down.

"You're so fucking stupid, Bones. Do you have a death wish or something?" I assume that his question is rhetorical so I don't answer him.

"James is fucking dangerous; you can't just go fighting back like that."

"I wouldn't have had to fight back Edward, if you would have stopped him in the fucking first place!"

"Whatever. The point is I don't need any beef with James. I have a business to take care of. I don't need anything getting in the way of that. You included."

"The drug business, Edward? Honestly? What the hell do you even need to sell drugs for? It's not like your family is hurting for money."

He stands up and kicks his chair back onto the kitchen floor. He slams his fists down on the table. "You don't know a damn thing about my family! Why I do what I do is my business, not yours. You don't ask questions! You sit there and keep your goddamn mouth shut. You wanted to be in my life, and I fucking told you that it wasn't the place for you. You're so damn hard headed that you wouldn't listen and now you have to face the consequences."

Not knowing what to say, I just stare at him for a moment before casting my eyes downward and onto the table top. I listen as he picks the chair back up and sits down again.

"You see what your actions caused tonight. With these people, everything you do has a consequence. Remember that next time and maybe you'll come back without your face fucked up."

I just nod.

He sighs. "Okay. Stand up and take off your shirt."

* * *

**Thanks for reading.** **Reviews are good motivators, and very much appreciated. :)**

**-Constant.**


	6. Chapter Five

**Paying For Your Sins**

**Chapter Five**

**BPOV:**

**January 2005**

Remember all those times I wasn't scared? I'm scared now. Knowing Edward, he'll get his way one way or the other. There are so many fucking problems with this situation.

If I don't fix this shit, he'll force my shirt off me and my arms will be bare. He will also see my disgustingly thin frame. My baggy shirts and hoodies usually do a good job of making me look bigger than I am.

With my elbows resting on the wooden top, I put my head in my hands and let out of a gust of air. I have to at least try to get out of this shit.

I raise my head and look at him. "I don't think that's necessary. I'm fine."

"You can't breathe without flinching. Cut the bullshit and take it off. I will take it off of you, if that's what you want."

He stands up and moves toward me. Scooting my chair back, I stand up ready to get the hell out. I protect the cutting at all cost. He already knows how much I weigh; I can deal with him seeing just how bad he thinks it is.

"Okay. I'll lift it. But I'm not taking it off. It's fucking cold."

He shakes his head. "Whatever. Just get on with it."

I close my eyes and with a huff I grab the hem of my long-sleeved t-shirt and raise it up until my entire torso below my bra is exposed. My hands start to shake while I wait for him to say something.

"Shit." He backs up until his calf hits the edge of his chair. He sits down and rests his elbows against his knees, head in hands.

"What the fuck am I supposed to do with you, Bones? I can't just sit around and watch you fucking kill yourself! Because that is exactly what you are doing!"

He raises his head from his hands. "You've got to do something about this shit. If you want to kill yourself, that's fine with me. But I _will not_ stick around while you do it."

"Edward, I can't just cut it off. I didn't wake up one day and just decide that I wanted to be disgustingly thin! I realize what I'm doing to myself and if I could help it, I would change it! Do you think I want my hair falling out or bruises all over my body because I have nothing to protect my bones from even the slightest bump?"

Sobs rack my body making any words difficult to speak. Tears spill down my cheeks. Feeling exhausted all of the sudden, I sit back down.

When I'm calm enough, I continue. "And you're a real fucking good one to talk. You usually drink like a fish. I'm surprised that you're sober right now. And now you're doing coke? Why do you get to sit here and tell me that I'm killing myself when you're doing the same damn thing, just in a different way? It's the fucking same thing!"

"Goddammit, Bones! I'm not the one that begged you to stay. You begged me to let you in, because why? I was doing just fucking fine without you."

A whole new round of tears brink and spill over. My chest tightens and I try my best to stop it.

"I've got enough to worry about without you hanging onto me all the damn time. You have got to let me go. We're not kids anymore."

"You have got to be fucking kidding me! The reason I wanted in so bad was because you're all I have! Ever since you and I stopped being friends three years ago, everything stopped. Edward, my dad hasn't said one word to me in so long that I have lost track. No one speaks to me. Before four months ago, no one even touched me with the exception of James trying to grab my ass or grind his dick into me. Do you realize how much it sucks to go without human interaction? How it feels to be unwanted by everyone, even your best friend? First it was my mother and then it was my dad. And to put the fucking cherry on top, you leave too!

My dad, Edward, I have no hope of him ever loving me again. I don't expect him to wake up one day and realize that he's killing me, and feel bad about it. But I haven't lost hope in you. I'm holding on to you because you're the last bit of hope I have. Without you, I have nothing; which is why I let you treat me the way that you do. You think I'm weak, but it's because I'm strong, Edward. I'm not looking for you to love me or even like me at this point. I just need your words. Whether they're friendly or not, I don't give a shit. I just need someone to act like I exist. Please."

Seconds, minutes, or hell, maybe even years go by. He's silent and I can't even look at him. I start to regret telling him all of that, but then I realize that I have nothing left to lose and he deserves the truth.

I get up looking for air and something to do before this pain breaks me. The darkness starts to creep into my head taking one thought after the other. Before it consumes me entirely I bring both my fists down onto the granite counter top; over and over. The pain shoots through my knuckles, but I continue. Each hit connects with a scream.

"Hey! Stop! Are you insane?!" Edward grips the tops of each arm pushing me up against the counter, his body trapping mine. I can't move.

"Leave. Go! I wouldn't want to deal with this shit either. Get out. I won't bother you again."

He wraps his arms around me.

"No! I'm nothing Edward, just an insignificant, worthless piece of shit!"

"You're not worthless. Don't ever say that again!"

"That's not how you felt four months ago. I am. You were right. I can't possibly be worth anything if nobody wants me. Everyone will be better off when I'm dead anyway."

I take a deep breath. "Get off me. I'm done."

His grip loosens before he lets go altogether.

"You should go, Edward. I'll be just fine."

Leaving him in the kitchen, I walk up the stairs and lock myself in the bathroom. I lean my back against the door before sliding to the floor and wait for the sound of the front door to click into the latch.

When I finally hear him leave, I get up and shed my clothes before standing in front the mirror. I look at the bruise and dried blood that covers my eye and cheek bone from James. I run my fingers over the self-inflicted scratches on my chest before poking at the hand-shaped bruise from James's hand around my neck.

I take in the huge purple, black, and blue masses that cover my entire rib cage on the right side of my body. Turning around, I ignore the pain as I twist so that I can see even more purple on my shoulder blade.

How fun will it be trying to cover this shit up for school tomorrow?

I drag my tired ass into the shower and sit on the porcelain floor while the water washes the day's events off me. I don't cut and I don't cry. I simply sit here and feel nothing.

When the water runs cold I wrap my towel around me and open the bathroom door. Charlie is standing on the other side.

He stares at me, taking in my injuries before walking past me and into the bathroom.

I stand there for a second waiting for the usual sting that comes with the re-occurring realization that my father doesn't give a shit about me.

It never comes.

After putting on whatever my hands touched from my drawers, I crawl into bed and hope that I don't wake up in the morning.

**PFYS**

Sometime later I find myself sitting in front of my window, staring out into the front yard.

Having barely any recollection of the past how many ever days or weeks, I have no idea what day or month it is. Bits and pieces come back to me as I keep seated and try to remember.

"_Bones, get the fuck up. You're going to get too far behind in school and not be able to graduate on time."…_

"_Will you at least fucking eat something? It's been six days."….._

"_GODDAMIT!" I barely register something crashing against the wall._

I unfold my legs and stand up, every bone in my body aching from disuse. I look around my room and it looks just like it normally does. The floor is spotless, no dust covers the dresser or my desk, and everything is in its correct place. My bed is made but a large circle of duvet is wrinkled on the right side.

I really, never leave things wrinkled.

Through my open door, I hear the toilet flush from down the hall. I look at the clock on my bedside table and wonder what Charlie is doing home this early on a… I look at the calendar on my wall. On a Monday.

It's Monday, February fourteenth. The last time that I looked at the calendar, it was January.

What the fuck?

The wood floor creaks behind me, and I turn expecting my father but it's Edward who stands in my doorway. I stare at him, confused. I'm not sure what happened over the past month, or why he is here. I thought he would be long gone by now.

"What? You can actually hear now, or were you just ignoring me for a month?"

I do not speak because honestly, I have no idea what to say.

"And you're still not speaking. I'm beginning to wonder if you still have the ability _to _speak." Edward walks and plops down in the wrinkled circle on my bed and just stares at me.

_Ah, it is a wrinkled butt circle._

"What are.." My voice is a bit hoarse so I stop to clear my throat before trying again.

"What are you talking about?"

"Fixed, just like that. You would think after not speaking for so long would inflict damage of sorts. I have to say though, my hearing has benefited greatly."

I roll my eyes at him. "I don't remember much."

"Hmm. Well let me inform you. After the night you almost bashed in the counter top with your insane strength and stupidity and told me to leave, you didn't come to school for an entire week. So, I came to your house and when you didn't answer the door I let myself in and found you in that chair." He points to where my desk chair is positioned in front of my window.

"You wouldn't answer me and I thought you were dead or something. Your eyes were closed and nothing I did or said made you open them. So I sat and waited for you to move or wake up or whatever. I waited for six hours before you even moved a goddamn inch.

"Charlie came home that night and didn't once come to check on you. The bastard didn't even acknowledge your existence. I wondered how long you had been sitting there and my guess was ever since that night. At first, I thought surely you had not been sitting there that long until I searched through the house for some sign of the fact that you had, or had not moved. The kitchen sink was piled high with dirty dishes, trash can was overflowing with take-out boxes and beer cans, the laundry baskets were full of Charlie's dirty clothes, but none of yours. There were two clean towels left in the bathroom closet and dust everywhere. That confirmed it for me.

"It's not like you to let that shit go. Ever. So I come back up here to try to talk some sense into your stubborn ass. I yelled and screamed for a while, and said some nasty shit until you opened your eyes. I thought for a second that I had gotten through to you but when you looked at me and I saw those creepy fucking eyes of yours, I knew that the only thing that had changed was that your eyes were open instead of closed.

"You looked straight into my eyes and just stared at me for a few minutes. Your eyes were dead. Not a shimmer or anything, and almost black. Something I had said though got to you, but not in the way that I had hoped. You got up and started cleaning, everything.

"You cleaned everything, for hours. I tried to stop you but it did me no good. I tried to get you to eat but that didn't work either.

"When I left your house the next morning, you were still scrubbing the kitchen floor that had already been scrubbed twice.

"You started coming to school again but you were still the same, non-responsive and practically walking around like a fucking zombie or some shit. James had a field day with that. Every single time I wasn't around he would find some way to rub his dick on you. And you just stood there. I was just about ready to say 'fuck it' and let your catatonic ass deal with it, but he finally got tired of you not responding and left you alone.

"After a week and a half, you finally started to eat. I thought I was going to have to force feed you. Luckily, it didn't come to that. Because you know I would have.

"So, for three weeks you went to school, cleaned, cooked Charlie dinner but never sat with him, and sat in that chair. That's it. You slept in it and everything.

"I am this close to joining you in 'I'm-fucking-insane-land.'" He holds up his thumb and index finger with less than a quarter of an inch between them.

"I'm not insane, Edward."

With a scoff he says, "Tell that to someone who didn't just spend over thirty days of his life watching you do hardly anything but sit in a chair."

"I'm still confused as to why you even bothered. You should have just let me die in that chair."

He opens his mouth but before he can get any words out, I remember what he told me.

"You said that Charlie was going to abandon me if I didn't get off my ass. You told me that he was tired of my shit and was going to leave. That's why I started cleaning. I remember that part now."

He only responds to my earlier statement. "Now that I think about it that would have probably been best, less time consuming anyway. You've been one hell of a burden, Bones."

I nod, frowning.

He stands up, his hands running through his hair. "While I would love to stay here for the pity party you're about to throw, I've got a gazillion hours of my life to make up for."

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that. You should go."

Without another word, or glance, he leaves me standing in the middle of my room, my mind reeling over the things he said. Before I have the chance to worry myself to death over shit that I cannot even begin to understand, I am brought out of my head by my growling stomach demanding to be fed.

A wave of panic washed over me as I recall Edward's words. "_After a week and a half, you finally started to eat._"

Oh god, how much did I eat? Did I eat every day; one meal or three? Have I gained weight?

Afraid to look in the mirror, I get on my knees and crawl over to my bed, reaching until my hands find the scale that is hidden underneath. I pull it out and stand up before stripping all of my clothes off and stepping onto the scale. I close my eyes and hold my breath terrified of the number that is going to confirm how disgusting I am.

After exactly thirty seconds I open my eyes and look at the screen at the top of the scale.

_Shit._ 86.4 pounds. I stare at the screen willing the number to decrease somehow. I gained six pounds in one month. No, it has to be wrong. I step off the scale and watch as the screen blanks before stepping back on.

86.4

86.4

86.4

86.4

86.4

I repeat the motion until I finally accept that the number is correct. I step off the scale one last time and kick it roughly back under my bed.

With a feeling of defeat I reach for my clothes that were strewn across the floor in my haste to remove them and as I do I see the mangled mess that use to be my left arm.

_Holy. Fucking. Hell._


	7. Chapter Six

**AN: Not beta'ed. All mistakes are mine.**

* * *

**Paying For Your Sins**

**Chapter Six**

**BPOV:**

Staring at my arms in complete shock, I move slowly to the edge of my bed and sit. I carefully study the deep gashes that cover my skin from my shoulders to my wrists, top and bottom, inside and outside. I can't seem to find an inch of skin that isn't damaged in some way.

No.

I frantically search the rest of my body only to find more cuts and bruises along my right side over my ribs. Choosing to ignore the insignificant, harmless bruises I focus my attention back on my arms. Never did I want them to look like this. I always made sure that I only cut one arm, and that I only condensed the damage to one specific area on that one arm. Even though it is impossible to quit now, I don't plan on doing it for the rest of my life. I hoped that one day I would be able to say that I have recovered and be able to expose my arms to the sun again. It has been far too long since any part of my body, besides my face, has been exposed to direct sunlight.

I had hoped that over time the scars would heal to where no one would notice unless they were looking for them. Now, it's impossible. The cuts that now litter my arms are deep, revealing tissue that should never see the light of day.

I run my fingers over the healing cuts, wincing as they come in contact with the more recent ones.

_What the fuck have I done?_

I sit on my bed for what seems an immeasurable amount of time searching my brain for memories of doing this to myself. How could I have let myself do this? It scares me to think about the fact that I could not have possibly been in control of myself when I did it. I would never consciously do this, or at least, not to this degree.

A car door slams outside my window, and I jerk in surprise before scrambling to gather my clothes and slip into them. Once I'm fully dressed, I tuck all my thoughts away and glance at the clock. 8:17 pm.

Fuck. Charlie.

I follow the stairs until my feet reach the first floor and before I can take a step toward the kitchen I'm knocked down, my back hitting the sharp edges of the wooden steps. I ignore the pain that spreads across my back and look up, confused, until I see Charlie standing above me with a murderous look on his face. His dark brown hair is a mess; his eyes red and glazed.

He is drunk. No, drunk doesn't even begin to describe his severely inebriated state. The last time I remember him being this drunk was the night he left me bleeding in the hallway three years ago.

He stumbles closer and for a minute I'm afraid that he's going to fall on top of me. Fortunately he grabs the stair rail before completely toppling over.

I make no sounds and stay as still as possible hoping that he'll go to bed and leave me alone.

Have I mentioned lately that the only luck I have is bad luck? He stares at me blankly like he is looking through me instead of at me. I break eye contact and instead I focus on his shoes.

He grabs me by the neck and pulls me into the hallway where he throws me against the wall and holds me there, my feet dangling above the floor. I grab his hand and pull trying to get him to release his grip but he only squeezes tighter. The shortage of oxygen causes my vision to fade, but before I lose consciousness he releases his grip and I fall to the floor.

I gasp for air, taking in as much as my body will allow. Without even glancing his way, I scoot along the floor in the opposite direction of Charlie. Before I can get very far he grabs my leg dragging me back to him. His boot-covered foot connects with any and every part of my body that it can reach. I hold my hands up trying to protect my face but somehow his foot manages to find one of my hands and my face.

Giving up, I hold my throbbing hand against my stomach and curl in waiting for him to tire out. When his feet give out, he starts hitting me with his fist. A warm liquid runs across my cheek and I have to blink to keep it from getting into my eyes.

When he can't possibly hit me anymore he sits on the floor and leans back against the wall and starts to cry. I watch him through my tunnel vision as long as I can before I black out.

Just as I'm being pulled under by the darkness my last thought is how proud I am of myself for not making a sound despite the horrendous pain coursing through my body.

**PFYS**

For one blissful moment when I wake up, I forget where I am and what happened. When I go to open my eyes, only one of them follows through.

_Swollen shut. Fan-fucking-tastic._

It doesn't take long for the memories to flood back in and the pain to make itself known. Ignoring the strong stench of blood I try to take in all my injuries based on feeling alone. The most prominent pain is coming from my face. I reach up with the hand that was fortunate enough to stay out of the line of fire and touch my fingers gently to my right eye.

_Fucks sake, I think he kicked me right in the eyeball. Surely it's about to fall out._

Because I feel like it indeed will fall out, I keep my hand pressed over it, trying to keep the throbbing down. I move my legs with the intent of getting up but my body is having none of that.

I have no idea what time it is. There is no light shining through the windows but it's not completely dark in the house so I assume it's either pre-sunrise morning or late afternoon. If I try harder I could probably tell you which of those two it is, however, I really don't care that much. The only thing I care about is getting up off this floor and into the shower so I can get the blood off me.

Time passes and the sun never comes. I continue to lie on the floor trying to sleep, but the pain is too much for me to dose off. To keep from getting even stiffer I practice moving my limbs and finally, when I feel okay enough to get up, I try. Using my good hand I push the upper half of my body off the floor and into a sitting position. Tears prick my eyes as my shoulder protests the movement but I blink them away and work on getting to my feet.

When I'm fully standing I take a few steps and grab the stair rail as quickly as I can for fear that I'll fall if I stand any longer unsupported. I use the rail to get up the stairs and it only takes me four seconds short of forever to reach the bathroom.

Avoiding the mirror I shed my clothes and turn the hot water knob all the way over. With great difficulty I manage to actually get myself into the tub and groan in pain when the water hits the wounds, new and old, on my body.

I watch as the water turns pink and then red the longer I soak and when the water turns cold I climb out and open the cabinet above the sink. After a quick search I find a bottle of prescription strength pain relievers that has Charlie's name on it. After taking two I set off on the long journey to my room.

I dress myself and before my head hits the pillow I can already feel the pain relievers starting to work.

While waiting to succumb into what's hopefully my death, I listen closely for Charlie's snoring and I'm surprised when I never hear it.

_That's weird. It's late and he should be home by now._

Remembering that I don't know the real time, or date for that matter, I glance over at my clock and gasp. It reads 4:38am, but it is the small lettering in the top, right corner of the clock that gets my attention. It's Wednesday.

I had lain on the floor for over twenty-four hours. I instantly thought of reasons Charlie wouldn't at least try to wake me, I mean, he had come home at some point during that time, didn't he? Would he really leave me to die on the floor?

Finally, I drift off into a deep and painless sleep.

**PFYS**

When I wake up for the second time the sun is shining brightly through my window. I squint, trying to see the clock.

I roll over carefully and put my feet on the floor. I sit and will the dizziness to go away before I try to stand. When I do, I sway a little before steadying myself against my bedside table. When I'm satisfied with my balance, I set off for the kitchen.

As much as I would love to never eat again, I begrudgingly realize that my body will heal quicker if I nourish it. Without thinking about it too much I fix myself some soup hoping that it'll help with the sore throat that results from being strangled.

I feel a bit better after I eat and have the energy to clean up and climb the stairs but by the time I'm in my room again, I'm exhausted.

For three days I follow the same routine: eat, wash, and sleep. In those three days I never once see or hear Charlie come home.

I wake up Sunday morning to someone trying to beat down the front door. I get up and make sure I'm all covered before climbing down the stairs. The pounding doesn't let up and I open my mouth to tell whoever is at the door to fuck off, but quickly realize that's probably not a good idea. Charlie probably forgot his key or something and I'm really not interested in pissing him off.

I open the door quickly only to shut it just as fast. Though, obviously not fast enough.

"Open the fucking door, Bones. I saw your face."

Fuck. I haven't even looked in a mirror. I can't imagine what it looked like.

With a huff I open the door and make a sweeping gesture for him to enter. Not that he needs my permission. I watch him as he starts up the stairs. I follow behind him and try my best not to stare at his ass as I do. I fail, horribly, of course but I did try. That counts.

"Forget where the spare key is?" My voice is that of an eighty year old man who has had way too many cigarettes.

"It's gone," he says as he lays himself down on my bed. "Your bed isn't made. I'm disappointed."

"Yeah, some annoying fucker woke me up, beating the hell out of my front door. I didn't exactly have time, and I plan on getting right back in it when said fucker leaves."

"You going to tell me what happened to your face and why you sound like you were forced to swallow a cactus, or you want me to guess?"

I don't answer him for obvious reasons. What would I say anyway? _Oh, that? Pfft.. Charlie came home drunk off his ass and beat the shit out of me for kicks."_

Yep, that would go over just fine.

"Does it even matter?"

He shrugs. "Yeah, it does. Curiosity and all, you know."

"Right… I fell down the stairs. I'm clumsy as fuck."

He stares at me for the longest fifteen seconds of my life when finally he shakes his head and says, "Yeah, you are."

I sigh and sit down in the chair. "Did you come over for a specific reason, Edward?"

He sits up and pulls a black flask from his back pants pocket. He lifts it to his lips and takes a long swig. He smirks and holds it out. "Do you want a sip, Bones? It'll make you feel better."

I shake my head. "There's not enough whiskey in the fucking world that will make me feel better."

"I disagree, Bones." He holds up his flask, "This shit is gold. There isn't a damn thing that this can't fix."

"Mmhm."

Edward gets to his feet, flask in hand, and stomps over to me. He stops when the tip of his shoes touch my bare toes and he leans over until his face is too close, or not close enough, whichever.

"You're not better than me. You starve yourself and who knows what else! That's fucking ridiculous! YOU DON'T GET TO JUDGE ME FOR MY SINS WHEN YOURS ARE WORSE THAN MINE!"

Shocked, I try to speak. "Edward, I…"

Before I can tell him that I don't think that at all, he puts the tip of the flask in my mouth and pours the burning liquid down my throat. He grabs me by the hair at the top of my head and jerks it back until I'm facing the ceiling. I cough, choking on the alcohol, but having no choice in the matter, I swallow as much as I can. I don't swallow fast enough causing the liquid to overflow. It drips down my chin, soaking my shirt, and gets in my nose.

I tear up, unable to breathe and try to right my head. His grip on my hair is too tight and I can't get away from him. When the flask is empty he drops it in the floor and puts his hand over my mouth to keep me from spitting it out.

"Swallow it."

Through blurry eyes, I stare into his black ones, his pupils dilated, not a single speck of his natural eye color is found. I close my own eyes and swallow the liquid, trying not to throw it back up.

When he's satisfied, his hand uncovers my mouth and he lets go of my hair. He steps back a bit as I gasp for air, the whiskey drains from my nostrils allowing air to pass through once again. When I get enough air I stand up, fucking furious.

Edward stands only a few inches from me, smiling.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I push him but he doesn't even stumble, making me even madder.

He pushes my hands away, laughing and says, "Aw, come on. I was only trying to loosen you up. You're too uptight, Bones. You're stressing me out with that shit."

"Are you fucking kidding me?! I cannot —" I raise my arms to push him again.

Before I can go full-on-maniac on him, he interrupts me, grabbing my hands in his own. "Stop fucking pushing me."

The expression on his face stops me from pulling my hands out of his and slapping the shit out of him.

I take a deep breath and give up, my anger fading along with my determination. I give a last "fuck you" just to make myself feel better about not being really angry about the way he treats me. I'm just glad he talks to me, to be honest.

I pull my hands out of his and sit down with the sick realization that I'd rather be abused than ignored.

I choose abuse.

How fucked up is that?

* * *

**Thanks for reading. Review if you please, I'd love to know what you guys think. Give me ideas and feedback!**

**Until next time. - Constant **


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